


Hope

by SanneARBY



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (Briefly mentioned) - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Evil Mary, F/M, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mary is Moran, Mary is Not Nice, Military Kink, Miscommunication, Multi, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Non-Consensual Touching, Parentlock, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Requited Love, Smut, tattoolock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanneARBY/pseuds/SanneARBY
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns to John, but not without injury. And not without their nemesis returning and seeking revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sop_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sop_chan/gifts), [ZoeyTear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeyTear/gifts).



> Kind of a sequel to [Things That Can't Be](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2314925), so if you like more angst, please read that one first :)

Sherlock stared at John behind the window with wide eyes, hoping by _God_ that the snow was covering him enough from his old friend's eyes. 

He sighed and smiled a tiny bit as John's daughter looked outside, caught his eye, and waved, probably squealing. 

He watched how John's wife approached the house, her silhouette moving along it, and stepped inside, most definitely greeting her husband. 

She could. 

Sherlock quickly paced aside as if walking, the possibility that John would look why his daughter was squealing too big. 

It hurt in his heart. 

The pain that John had moved on. 

The pain that he had had to leave John for so long. 

He gulped and quickly stomped over the pavement, his eyes teary and prickling.

Today wasn't the time to feel sad, however. 

His phone buzzed. He took it out and read Mycroft's text, then stepped inside the black car that had stopped in front of him. 

\------

He was gasping for air, wheezing desperately from the horrible pain. 

_Losing blood, need to focus._

But he couldn't. 

He gripped for his heart, right where the bullet had penetrated him in the back, and squeezed as if that'd reduce the pain. 

He grasped for air again as the world started to twist and turn. 

He wheezed, eyes rolling around in search for help. 

None. 

_I'm dying._

He couldn't think straight, suddenly a future (past?) with John running through his mind as if it had been real. 

Waking up next to John, making breakfast for John, making love on the couch with John, kissing with John, cuddling with John, taking John on dates. 

_John._

He felt his heart rate fastening, felt his body trying to keep itself alive, fight the bullet and blood loss off. 

But he hadn't thought about it, and had fallen backwards. No clog. 

He grasped for air, black spots starting to blur his vision, feeling tears stream down his cheeks. 

He couldn't do it anymore. Without John, he couldn't do it. 

He panted as he closed his eyes, accepting his fate. 

And then, a light was shone in his face, and a familiar voice he hadn't heard for too long, cursed. 

\------

He was lying there, face filthy with tears and dirt, his chest seemingly unharmed, but once turned over later in the hospital, his back almost ripped. 

John frowned and bit his lips harshly. He had called 999, help was on the way. 

He gripped Sherlock's hand and clung to it. "Christ, you prick," he whispered, voice thick with held-back emotions. "You can't die on me again. Please," he pleaded, pressing his lips against Sherlock's hand. 

It wasn't okay. 

He stared at the unconscious detective until the sleuth's breathing stopped. 

He jolted up, just wanting to reanimate, when the ambulance _finally_ arrived. 

Paramedics came running towards them, took Sherlock away. 

John panicked. 

"No! Please, let me come," he gasped, and the paramedics nodded, then urged him to be quick. 

And so he was.

He was quiet the whole ride, and he hadn't realised he'd held Sherlock's hand all the way to the hospital until he was forced to let go so the doctors could operate on Sherlock. 

"Will he be okay?" John asked the doctor quickly, and the doctor shot him a glance. 

"Maybe," he answered, before hurrying to the surgery. 

It took two hours. 

Two hours in which Mary came by for five minutes total, trying to console her emotional husband as he waited for Sherlock to finally leave the surgery. 

"He was dead!" John shouted, people looking up disturbed, Mary shushing him. 

"I know, but he obviously isn't," she whispered, and John scowled at her. 

Of course _she_ didn't understand.

"Just.. Let me be, yeah? I'll come home soon," he murmured, frowning. 

Mary frowned and stood up. "See you at home," she said, before walking away briskly.

John stared her after until a doctor arrived, and he jumped up as the doctor was about to open his mouth. 

"John Watson, I assume?" he said, John nodding. 

"Is he okay?" John whispered, biting his lips. 

The doctor nodded. "He is stable and still in the IC, since we nearly lost him a few times. He's lucky that he survived at all, to be honest. His heart was scraped by the bullet; he'd have bled out if you hadn't found him." 

John nodded, itching to see Sherlock bloody Holmes, the famous detective he had thought dead, in a proper state. Even if he was unconscious. 

"How _did_ you find him?" the doctor suddenly asked, looking at John questionably. 

John looked at the man, then behind him. "Where is he?" he avoided the question, clenching and unclenching his hands. 

"Room 205," the doctor frowned, then stepping aside to let John through. 

John nearly ran towards the room, biting his lips harshly as he rounded a corner. He slowed down as he neared 205, then he walked in. 

Only to find the bed empty. 

He stared at it, eyes wide, then he cursed and went to find the doctor. "He's gone!" he breathed, as soon as he had found a nurse. 

"Sorry?" she asked gently, blinking.

"Sherlock Holmes, room 205," John answered, clenching his teeth and then cursing. 

The nurse frowned. "We just brought him in, he can't be gone, sir."

"Well then bloody check the room!"

The nurse flinched and then jogged towards Sherlock's room, blinking as she saw it was empty. "Nobody... Where could he have gone? He's in critical condition," she frowned deeply. Then, she jogged out of the room in search for a doctor. 

John stared her after, then looked at the empty bed. "Why?" he murmured. 

\---

Sherlock panted as he leaned against the wall, and he pressed his eyes close as he started to sob. 

_No, stop. Focus._

He breathed out shakily and then quickly texted Mycroft, clutching his heart. If he wouldn't get help soon, he'd die after all. 

He coughed and doubled over, panting still. He heard the car approaching and then the doors opening. 

Two pair of firm hands carefully guided him into the car, and he slumped against the seat. He nearly lost consciousness, but then his brother's voice came, 

"Sherlock."

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and took the IV and bag that were handed to him. He nodded his thanks and set them up, then slipped into unconsciousness anyway. 

\---

" _How can he be gone_?" John shouted angrily, glaring at Mycroft dangerously as he was stood at the desk. 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and looked at John. "Sorry?"

"You know bloody well what I'm talking about!" John hissed, slamming his fist on the table. "So tell me!"

Mycroft leaned back and crossed his legs. "I must ask you to be more specific."

"Sherlock! Your own bloody brother, gone from the hospital!" John raged, jaw tight. "Recovering from surgery, and then suddenly just _gone_."

"Well, Sherlock does like disappearing, hm?" Mycroft smiled emotionlessly and ordered John to sit with a stiff hand gesture. 

John stayed standing, leaning on Mycroft's desk with both hands. "I saw him. I bloody well saw him, he is not dead, so tell me where he is!" 

"He is on a mission," Mycroft glared to John, eyes cold and distant. "And he will not be returning until he finished it."

"And what if he gets killed? He is _dying_ right at this moment! He got shot, right here," John slapped a hand against his chest. "And you are just sitting here as if nothing is wrong!"

"Incorrect," Mycroft said simply, turning around in his chair and standing up. "In fact, I need to check on him right now."

John stared at Mycroft, then the man's words hit him, and he grasped Mycroft's arm firmly. "Tell me where he is," he demanded. 

Mycroft looked at John, then at his held arm and tugged himself free. "No. You will only distract him."

"I saw him," John then said, breathing heavily. "Outside my window, Christmas. I wasn't sure, but I saw his bloody silhouette. It felt as if I had been hit, and had this feeling he might've been alive after all. Let. Me. See. Him."

"No."

John then drew his hand back and punched Mycroft in his face as hard as he could. 

The older Holmes brother stumbled back, gasping at the sudden force and pain. He held a hand at his cheek and stared at John in disbelief. 

"Where is he?" John growled, hands still balled into fists. "I will hit you again if you don't tell me."

"Doctor Watson, do try to realise the importance of this-" he got cut off by another punch. He grunted and held onto his desk to stop himself from falling. "Doctor Watson!"

John stared at Mycroft, eyes dark and dangerous. "Tell. Me."

Mycroft clenched his teeth and then straightened himself and his suit. "No."

"For fuck's sake!" John shouted. "I saw him! I know he is alive! Tell me where he is so I can kill him!"

Mycroft growled, a low rumble in his throat. "No."

John clenched his teeth, then sighed and slumped in the chair. "Sorry," he mumbled, shaking his head. All energy was drained from him 

Mycroft looked at him, a red spot on his cheek. He sighed, too, and he sat at his desk. "His 'death' has hit you harder than he and I had expected," he said, almost sympathetically. 

"He is my best friend, of course it hit me," John murmured, looking at his hands. "All I wanted was for him to come back, and now that he did and I can see him, you won't allow me to. You should at least try to understand that frustration."

"I do understand that frustration," Mycroft glanced down to the golden ring on his left ring finger. "But you must also understand my concern."

John frowned, and he shook his head. "I know," he sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face and looked at something on Mycroft's desk. 

Mycroft stayed silent, watching John. "John," he suddenly said, soft and sympathetic. "Do listen to me, it's for your own good."

John looked up to Mycroft, then he sighed and nodded. "I know," he said softly, looking down at his hands again. 

\---

"He hit you," Sherlock noticed, as Mycroft walked into the room. He coughed and sat up a bit to drink some water before leaning back.

"Twice," Mycroft corrected him, sitting down. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I escaped a certain death because you texted John some coordinates from a different number," Sherlock glanced to Mycroft. "Why did you do that?"

"John Watson needs only little information before going somewhere out of curiosity. He would have been faster than me. And he was, as it turned out," Mycroft hummed. "He saved your life."

"No," Sherlock frowned. "You did," he scowled, shaking his head. "It's pure luck that you were looking at my vitals at that time."

"Call it instinct, brother mine," Mycroft said, looking outside. 

"Sentiment, you mean," Sherlock smiled a tiny bit, shaking his head. 

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and raised his eyebrows. "You say that as if you haven't fallen prey to it."

Sherlock stared at Mycroft, then looked away and tugged at the blankets. "When can I see him? Properly. Talk to him."

"Soon," Mycroft said. "After you've healed. I'll get some people on Moran," he sighed. "She's obviously skilled in staying hidden."

"What?" Sherlock said immediately, looking at Mycroft. "What is it?"

"What do you mean?" Mycroft frowned. 

"You're hiding something. Tell me," Sherlock demanded, clenching his teeth. 

Mycroft frowned and looked up to Sherlock in doubt. "I have done some research about doctor Watson's wife, Mary Watson. I had to ask a certain Charles Augustus Magnussen, and he told me about Mrs Watson."

Sherlock scowled at the name, though urged Mycroft to move on. 

Mycroft sighed. "Mary Watson is Moran. Mister Magnussen told me that Mrs Watson isn't even British. She used to work for the CIA, then went freestyle for a bit and got into a lot of trouble. She later found Jim Moriarty, who helped her out in return for her duty. She was one of the snipers at the pool, and had her sniper aimed at doctor Watson when you were on the roof two years ago. She's the one that has attempted to kill you." 

Sherlock stared at Mycroft. "Why is she with John now? Is he in danger?"

Mycroft shook his head. "She's keeping a low profile until Moriarty will return. She's with doctor Watson to protect herself from the people that are out for her. Doctor Watson is safe as long as he doesn't know who she is and what she's done."

Sherlock stared at Mycroft with wide eyes, then started getting up. "We must tell John, right now," he breathed, gasping as Mycroft pushed him down. 

"No," his brother said sharply. "It will put doctor Watson in danger. We must neutralise Mrs Watson," he said, jaw tight. 

"But... John is smart enough to figure this out himself! If he knows...!" Sherlock gasped. "Please."

"Rest," Mycroft avoided the subject. "You need it," he said softly, standing up. He nodded to Sherlock and then left the room, closing the door behind him. 

\---

John frowned as he was sat on the couch, his daughter Lilly on his lap as she watched the TV. Mary was out for work. Surprisingly a lot, lately. 

"Hey, Lilly," John smiled softly, and his daughter turned to look at her dad. 

She squealed and giggled, clapping her hands. 

John chuckled and smiled, holding her close gently as she continued watching. 

It was all a mess. 

The feelings he had thought were gone were suddenly pulled back to the surface, and he seriously started doubting his love for Mary. Of course, she was smart and pretty, but.. Something was off. Something John couldn't quite lay his finger on.

Mary was gone the day John had found Sherlock. Gone for work, she'd said. John didn't trust it at all. She was away so irregularly and often that he first thought she might've been seeing someone else, but that wasn't the case. He had tried asking her directly, and more discretely other times, but it seemed that she was always sharp and on point. 

John sighed, and he looked at the picture on the table. He, Lilly, and Mary, laughing in front of the Big Ben. Mary had taken the picture as John had held Lilly. 

John smiled and looked at his daughter. 

How beautiful she was. She resembled Mary, but most people first saw John in her. He knew why, and he'd now much rather look at the features she'd gotten from him than from Mary. 

It was his daughter, and he loved her, but she was also Mary's. Not that it was her fault, of course. Poor child. 

"What a mess you got in, love," John sighed, hobbling her on his knee and smiling as she giggled. "But cute you are."

\--- 

Sherlock stumbled to John's house and looked at it. No snow storm to hide himself in. He looked down through the living room window and saw John, _John_ , in thought, his daughter hobbling on his leg. 

Sherlock couldn't help but smile, and he quickly covered it. No time for sentiment. 

He opened the fence and walked over the stone to the white front door, then just stood there, thinking. 

Should he do it? Yes. John had seen him before this anyway, so what was the point? 

Sherlock frowned as he considered, then he stumbled back and winced as the front door was opened and John peeped out. 

The doctor stared at Sherlock, deciding what to do. He stayed standing, eyes wide as he looked at the detective, then he blinked and came back to life. "Christ," he breathed. "Jesus Christ, I'm going to have a heart attack."

"Now, John, you've seen me before ... Now," Sherlock said, still taken aback and not daring to look John in his eyes. 

John shook his head and cleared his throat, then looked down to reassemble himself. He sniffed and looked back up, nodding. "Are you hurt?" he asked, walking forwards and cupping Sherlock's left cheek to check his right.

Sherlock blinked and looked at John, ignoring the warm feeling in his gut by John's touch. "You... You're not angry at me?" he whispered, John shaking his head. 

"I am. Come in," John then said. He walked in his house and left the door open for a baffled Sherlock. 

Sherlock followed him, still blinking. He closed the door behind him and watched John, then gasped as John's daughter suddenly hugged him. 

"Does she know me?" he asked softly, staring at John's daughter with wide eyes. She looked so much like John. 

John turned his head. "Hm? Oh. Yeah. Sort of," he murmured, getting back to looking for pain killers. "I showed her some pictures of you and told her stories. She's supposed to at least know who her godfather would've been," he smiled sadly. 

Sherlock stared at John. "I'm ... You'd have made me her godfather? I'm here now," he breathed, looking back down at the small bundle of happiness. 

"I know, so..." John mumbled, shaking his head. He gently picked Lilly up and sat her on the couch in front of the TV, then led Sherlock to the kitchen and guided him to sit on a stool. "I'm going to inspect your wounds, so shirt up."

Sherlock shrugged his coat off and then hesitantly unbuttoned his shirt. If John would see the scars... "I've already been looked at at the hospital," he said quickly. 

"I want to see myself," John said simply. "And take better care of it." 

Sherlock bit his lips, then nodded and pulled his shirt down, the cold air giving him the chills. 

John stared at Sherlock's scarred chest, eyes pained. "You..." he didn't finish his sentence. He looked back up to Sherlock, then bit his lips and stayed quiet as he started attending the scars and recent wounds. 

Sherlock winced when John reached his backside scar, and he flinched. 

"I'm sorry. That's the one from... Where you got shot?" John whispered, almost too scared to ask. 

Sherlock simply nodded, tears prickling behind his eyelids and on the edge of falling. 

"So... How did you do it?" John then asked, looking at the mess of dark curls. 

"Do what?"

"Fake your death." John murmured, tracing his fingertips over a few scars and eliciting a shiver from the detective. 

Sherlock gulped, feeling too exposed. "I'd first need to explain _why_ , don't you think?" he asked softly, and John nodded. 

"Yeah. Yeah you do," he murmured, then taking Sherlock's hand and squeezing it. 

Sherlock stared at their hands, then looked back up to John. "Why are you...?" 

"Just... Please. Don't mention it," John frowned, gulping. "Just explain why."

Sherlock nodded slowly, then cleared his throat. "I was being threatened. Well, you were. As were Mrs Hudson and Lestrade," he said softly. "Moriarty had snipers aimed at you three and would've killed you if I wouldn't die. So... I had to make a choice. Mycroft and I had, of course, plans, but..." he shut up and bit his lips. It hurt to say. 

John stayed quiet, not moving at all. 

Sherlock stared at him and then slowly brought the doctor's hand to his mouth. He pressed his lips to John's knuckles for a moment and then pulled away again. 

John's breath hitched, and he nodded. "Me too," he whispered, biting his lips. "Always. I would've waited if I _knew_ ," he breathed, shaking his head. "I swear this wouldn't-"

"Shhh," Sherlock interrupted him softly, taking John's other hand and kissing that one, too. "I get it," he said softly, looking at their hands. "You were forced to move on, and that's fine. I swear," he smiled weakly. 

John looked at him with wide eyes. "I just want to..." he made a frustrated noise. 

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, me too," he inched closer and pressed his lips to John's fore head, keeping them there for a few seconds. 

John closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he stayed close to Sherlock. "I'm sorry," he whispered. 

Sherlock shook his head. "If at all, I should be," he said, frowning. He pulled back and let go of John's hands. "Are you done?" he asked softly. 

John nodded. "Yeah," he handed Sherlock his shirt and sighed. "Stay."

Sherlock blinked and looked at John. "Sorry?" he murmured, cocking his head. 

"The night. Stay the night. Mary's out, and I would love it if you... Would stay the night," John nodded, a slight blush on his face. 

Sherlock stared at John and then nodded. "Yeah. Okay," he smiled softly. "Of course."

John smiled thankfully. "Thank you," he said, then walking to the living room to check on Lilly. 

Sherlock stared him after, then pulled his shirt back on with a soft wince and buttoned it back up, sunken in thoughts. 

"Sherlock, you want to watch some telly?" John called from the living room, followed by a squeal from Emily. 

Sherlock smiled, stood up from the stool, and went to the living room, trying to fight the domestic feeling off. This wasn't his home, he and John weren't a thing, and Lily wasn't _theirs_. 

He sighed softly as he sat down on the couch, and he absentmindedly looked at the screen as he was thinking. 

After a few moments, Lily crawled in his lap and curled up with her thumb in her mouth as she watched Sesame Street. 

Sherlock looked down at her and smiled a tiny bit, then blinked as John shuffled closer and rested his head on his shoulder. "John?" he asked softly. 

"Ssh." John shushed him again, not looking at him. 

Sherlock couldn't help but beam, and he went back in his mind palace feeling happier than he'd ever been.

\---

Sooner than he'd hoped, John stretched and stood up, then picked the sleeping Lily up. 

Sherlock roused from his thoughts when he felt the loss of heat on his left side. "You taking her to bed?" he asked, looking at John's eyes. 

John nodded. "Yeah," he smiled softly, and he walked up the stairs, leaving Sherlock on the couch. 

Sherlock watched him after, a familiar warmth spreading through his chest. He sighed and looked down at the couch where John had sat. 

If he didn't know better, he'd thought they were an actual family. 

He smiled to himself, and his mind started drifting off to a life with John. 

"Sherlock?" John then disrupted his thouhts after a while, and Sherlock looked up to him questionably. 

"You... Time for bed?" John asked softly, eyes focused on somewhere behind Sherlock. 

Sherlock nodded slowly and stood up. "Okay," he dared a tiny smile. 

"Come," John turned around and went to his bedroom, taking the stairs as if in thought. 

Sherlock followed him, butterflies in his belly. "John?" he asked softly, as he walked in John's (and _Mary's_ ) bedroom. 

"Yes?" John replied softly, as he slowly pulled his jumper off his head. 

Sherlock watched as in trance, feeling anticipation boiling in his belly. He forgot to reply and just watched. 

John allowed him. 

Sherlock kept watching until John was back in his pyjama's, and then he started stripping. "I don't have any pyjama's with me," he said simply, and John nodded. 

"Then just sleep in your pants," he shrugged, lying down and opening the covers for Sherlock. 

Sherlock blinked down at John. "... You changed," he said softly, lying down slowly. 

John nodded. "I came to realise something," he whispered, pulling Sherlock close and wrapping his arms around him protectively. 

Sherlock blinked again but snuggled closer. "What did you realise?" he asked gently, looking up to the beautiful man who smiled down at him. 

"You," the doctor replied in a quiet whisper, caressing Sherlock's cheek. 

Sherlock's breath hitched, and he leaned in the touch. "What's with me?" he murmured, closing his eyes. 

John looked down at Sherlock and then pulled back a bit. "Nevermind," he blushed, looking away. 

Sherlock stared at him, heart pounding in his chest. He nodded mutely and then tried to fall asleep, feeling John's eyes on him 

\--

Sherlock gasped as he felt a bullet penetrating his back, and he cried out in agony and pain. 

Sherlock woke with a start, panting as he clutched his heart. " _John_ ," he gasped, closing his eyes when he felt arms being wrapped around him. 

"I'm here," John whispered, stroking Sherlock's hair back. "Nightmare?" 

Sherlock nodded fearfully, trembling "It... Christ, I can't actually tell you..." he frowned, breathing heavily. 

John frowned. "Can't tell me what?"

Sherlock stared at John. "If you know, she'll kill you," he whispered quickly. "Do you really want to know?"

John hesitated, then nodded. "Yes." 

Sherlock took a few deep breaths and snuggled close enough to smell John. "It was Mary," he whispered. "Mary who was a sniper at the pool back with Moriarty, Mary who held you under shot when I was on the roof, and Mary who shot me in my back," he murmured. "It all comes down to her."

John had frozen, eyes wide. "... Are you sure?" he breathed, trembling. "Absolutely sure?" he pressed his eyes close and let out a shuddering breath. "I knew it. She was gone so often it couldn't possibly be a coincidence."

Sherlock bit his lips. "I'm sorry, John," he murmured, and he snuggled closer as John trembled. 

"Will... Will she kill you?" he whispered, looking down at the detective in his arms fearfully. 

Sherlock frowned. "Most definitely," he said softly, and he winced as John tightened his grip. 

"I won't allow her," he said shakily, and he looked up as he heard Lily. He let go of Sherlock and sat up. 

Sherlock stared at his back. "... Thank you, John, for not giving up on me," he whispered. 

"Always" the doctor nodded, and then he stood up to get Lily 

\---

Sherlock was just at the table eating his breakfast, when he recognised the footsteps coming towards him, and he jumped up as he looked Mary Watson straight in her eyes. 

"Well, well, well," Mary smirked. "Sherlock Holmes, alive and well," she hummed, sitting down at the table. 

Sherlock stared at her, then glanced at the front door, where John had left for work earlier. He looked back to the smiling Mary and scowled. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I only want my life back," she said simply, smile still on her face. 

Sherlock frowned deeply and gulped. "Is anybody stopping you?" he asked, jaw tight. 

"Oh Sherlock," Mary tutted. "You know there is," she looked at him darkly and placed her purse on the table. "So, let's make a deal."

Sherlock growled. "I don't make deals," he huffed. "Not with criminals like you."

"Does John know?" Mary asked in return, ignoring Sherlock. She looked at him questionably. "Does he?"

Sherlock stayed silent, starting to tremble. 

Mary cocked her head. "... He does," she concluded, and she started to smirk. She stretched and put her gloves on. "I've been waiting for this, you've got no idea."

"No," Sherlock breathed. "You can't hurt him, I won't allow you," he said, as Mary pulled a gun out her purse. 

"But, my dear, you have no say in this," she said darkly, smirking. "I have an identity that's supposed to be kept a secret, and I will not allow you to mess this up," she said, standing up and pointing the gun at Sherlock. 

Sherlock stared at the gun, unsure of what to do. He frowned and clenched his jaw. "In front of your own child?" he huffed, as Lily came crawling in the room. 

Mary looked down at Lily and seemed to hesitate, then she shrugged. "She's so young she won't remember," she said simply, looking back to Sherlock. 

Sherlock growled and stood in front of Lily. "She's your child!" he snarled, and he blinked as Mary chuckled. 

"She;s never been mine. Ever since I gave birth to her, John claimed her and told her all about you. _You_! Supposedly dead!" she laughed, shaking her head. "No. She;s never been mine, he's been sharing her with you." 

Sherlock's breath hitched, and he felt dizziness flooding over him. But he stayed standing. "No," he said again. "I will not-!" he gasped as a gunshot was heard, and, thinking that he had been hit, he looked down. No blood. He looked back up and his eyes widened. 

Jim Moriarty was standing in the doorway, a gun in his hand that was still smoking. 

"She was getting out of control," Moriarty hummed, as Mary crumbled to the floor with wheezes of pain. 

Moriarty stepped over her and smiled as he tucked his gun away. "Now, Sherlock," he clasped his hands together and smirked. "Let's talk."

Lily was staring at the flinching and grunting Mary with wide eyes, and she was about to crawl to her when Sherlock picked her up. 

"Sorry, love," he whispered to her, trembling as he stared back to Moriarty. 

"You are not dead," the criminal huffed, shaking his head. "I thought we had an agreement," he said low in his throat. 

Sherlock turned away from him, holding the now crying Lily close against him. He rocked her in an attempt to shush her, but he tensed when he felt Moriarty brush against him. 

The criminal placed a hand on Sherlock's neck and moved it down his back slowly. "Since you are not dead," he whispered in Sherlock's ear, as his hand moved to his arse. "What will become of you and your pets won't be pleasant."

Sherlock stared ahead of him, tensed up in fear. He nodded stiffly, tears starting to prickle his eyes. 

Moriarty squeezed Sherlock's bum. "Good pet," he smirked, and then he turned around and left the house, leaving the wheezing Mary on the ground. 

"L-Lily," Sherlock breathed, placing her down on the floor. "Watch the telly, okay?" he urged her, before scrambling to Mary and starting to put pressure on the wound. 

She gasped and cried out of pain, then coughed and balled her hand to fists. "S-stop," she scowled, then wincing. 

"Don't be foolish!" Sherlock snarled, quickly gripping his phone and dialling 999. 

Mary growled and slapped Sherlock's hand away weakly. She stared at the detective and then slumped as she shook her head. "I - don't," she grunted. "Leave me be," she coughed up blood. 

Sherlock stared at her and shook his head. "No," he growled, still pressing on the wound. 

"I tried to ... Kill you, i-idiot!" Mary scoffed weakly, eyes rolling back. 

"Well I am not lowering myself to your standards!" Sherlock snarled to her, and he frowned as she closed her eyes. He told the woman on the phone his address and then threw the device away as he grabbed the nearest towel and folded it over Mary's wound. 

Just then, John came walking in. "Hey, I forgot-" he stared at Sherlock and Mary, and his eyes widened at Mary. "Christ! What happened?" he breathed, crouching down. 

Sherlock shook his head, too focused to answer. 

"... Did you do this?" John frowned at Sherlock. 

"Of course not!" Sherlock snarled to the doctor, and he looked up as he heard the ambulance. "Thank god."

John stared at Sherlock quietly, and he swiftly stood up to get Lily from the living room.

Sherlock didn't even as much consider his tone to John as paramedics rushed in the room and put the unconscious Mary on a stretcher. They took her to the ambulance and drove away with their sirens on. 

Sherlock was still on his knees, on the edge of panting as he breathed heavily. He didn't hear John coming back in the kitchen until the older man cleared his throat. He turned to look at him. 

"... You have blood on your hands," John murmured, jaw tight. He was holding Lily against him, rocking her softly as she sobbed. "What happened?"

Sherlock couldn't move, and he stared down at his bloodied hands. "S-she..." he breathed, shaking his head. He felt himself trembling more, and he shook his head once more. 

"Sherlock?" John frowned worriedly, crouching down. "Sherlock, look at me. _Focus_." he said sharply, and his face softened as Sherlock obliged. "What did she do?" he asked gently. 

Sherlock couldn't focus, however. He stared at John's beautiful blue, green, and brown eyes. It was like the most beautiful forest and sea combined, a colour that took your breath away and left you in awe. 

"I love you," Sherlock breathed, and John hitched a breath as he blinked. Then blinked some more. 

"W-what?" the doctor breathed, eyes fluttering. 

"I know it's the worst timing, but... John Watson, I love you," Sherlock whispered, not breaking his gaze with John. 

John stared at Sherlock, glanced down to his lips and then back up. "Sherlock," he breathed, then pulled back. "Right, uhm," he blinked, standing up with a blush. He stroked Lily's hair and rocked her. "I'll go to the hospital in a bit," he said, before quickly hurrying off. 

Sherlock nodded, staring him after with wide eyes. 

\--- 

John came home from the hospital the next day, just as Sherlock was feeding Lily. 

Sherlock straightened and worriedly walked to John, then tensed as John wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his chest 

"... John?" he asked softly. 

John grunted. "Just... A minute," he said muffled, and Sherlock allowed him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and just keeping him there. 

After a minute, John pulled back and nodded. "She made it, but barely," he informed Sherlock. "I... I am unbelievably angry at her," he murmured. 

Sherlock nodded. "I can imagine," he said softly. "Are you okay?" 

John nodded, and he sighed. "I just need... Rest," he said, and he stretched. "Thanks for looking after Lily. Would you mind doing it again? I know it's much to ask for, but I need... Rest," he nodded and smiled softly when Sherlock nodded in agreement. 

"Of course, John," Sherlock said softly. 

"Good," the doctor said, patting Sherlock's shoulder and then pecking Lily's fore head. He took the stairs and went into his bedroom. 

Sherlock looked him after and then crouched back at Lily. "You like that?" he smiled softly, as she babbled something and then squealed. 

Sherlock smiled fondly and stroked her hair softly. "You look like your Daddy, you know?" he cooed softly, and he smiled as he straightened. He grabbed a napkin and gently wiped her chin. "All dirty," he tsk-ed jokingly, and Lily laughed. 

\---

A few hours later, John still hadn't gotten down, even after Sherlock had made them some dinner. 

It was time to put Lily to bed. 

Sherlock picked her up and rocked the already dozing Lily softly. He hummed a little lullaby as he took the stairs, and he walked in her room. 

"Here we are," he whispered, gently lying her in the crib. "All clean, new diaper," he stroked her hair and looked at her. 

He saw John's characteristics everywhere. 

He sighed heavily and leaned back, then left the room and closed the door quietly. He went to John's room and knocked on the door. "John?" he whispered, slowly opening the door. 

He gasped when he didn't see John, and he strode in the room. "John?" he breathed, and he quickly pulled his phone out, calling John's mobile. 

It rang on the nightstand. 

Sherlock cursed and called Mycroft. 

Though, before he could say anything, his brother calmly said, "The roof. It's begun. Gregory is on his way to take care of Lily. Go," Mycroft hung up, and Sherlock stared at his phone, paralysed for a few seconds. 

He then ran down the stairs to pull his coat on, and he paced around the hallway until Greg came and entered the house silently. 

Sherlock left as soon as Greg's foot was inside, and he hailed a cab. "St Bart's Hospital. Double pay if you go double as fast," he told the cabbie, and he sat back. 

He watched out the window anxiously, chewing on his lips. How had he not noticed John leaving? And why had John not said anything?

Sherlock tapped his foot. "Faster," he ordered the cabbie, so close to snarling. He bit his lips harshly as he trembled, and he clenched his hands to fists. 

When he arrived, he threw thirty pounds to the cabbie and ran through the hospital doors, then took the staircase two at the time. 

He threw the roof doors open and hitched a breath at what he saw. 

John, a wounded Mary, and Jim Moriarty were standing opposite of each other with their guns out to each other, and they all turned to look at Sherlock. 

"Sherlock," Moriarty smirked, lowering his gun. 

Mary glanced to the three of them and then lowered her gun, leaning heavily on her cane without saying a word. 

John stared at Sherlock. "What are you doing?" he whispered, loud enough for Sherlock to hear. 

"John, I thought..." Sherlock couldn't finish his sentence, and he strode over to him to stand in front of him. "Whoever wants to hurt him has to go through me," he said, defiantly. 

"I've done it before, a second time won't be very hard," Mary snorted, coughing

Moriarty smiled. "How nice to have a small reunion like this," he clasped his hands. "Especially at this location."

John looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock, where's Lilly?" he frowned worriedly. 

Sherlock glanced at John. "Safe with Lestrade," he nodded briefly, and he growled as Moriarty raised his gun again. 

"What is stopping me to shoot all three of you?" Moriarty smiled, closing one eye and pretending to shoot. "All my burdens could be over with three shots of this toy," he smiled, winking. 

Mary looked at him. "Burdens?" she frowned, straightening. 

"Well, yes. Sherly with his sentiment, you with your sentiment, and dear John Watson with his sentiment," he shrugged. "All this sentiment, and look where it got Moriarty all. Sherlock," he pointed his gun to Sherlock. "You, detective, forced me to 'kill myself' because you love your doctor so much. And you, Moran," he pointed his gun to Mary. "You love your doctor so much that you couldn't kill him when you had to. And you, dear doctor Watson," he looked at John. "You love these two so much that you killed a man the day you met him, and you willingly gave up what you loved for her."

Sherlock glanced at Mary, then at John, but John gripped Sherlock's arm and shook his head. 

"So you see, all sentiment. Sentiment that got. In. My. Way," Moriarty huffed. "I wanted to have fun, but it was taken from me, so let's have some new fun. Moran," he looked at Mary again. "I don't need you, your brother is much, much more helpful. And a nice fuck, of course," he smiled. "But since doctor Watson loves you so much, I wonder what would happen if I were to, like, shoot you?"

John tensed, and he stepped out behind Sherlock to stand in front of Mary. "No, no, you're not going to do that," he said defiantly. "She is a mother."

Moriarty chuckled. "As if I _care_ ," he shrugged, and he growled at John. "Step aside."

John shook his head. "No."

"John," Sherlock said stiffly. "Please."

John looked at Sherlock. "I can't let him shoot my child's _mother_ ," he said, eyes wide. 

Sherlock bit his lips. " _Please_ ," he pleaded. 

"I'd listen to Sherly, doctor Watson," Moriarty smiled devilishly, and John clenched his jaw. 

"No," he said sternly. 

Moriarty shrugged. "Fine," he hummed and then pulled the trigger. 

"No!" Sherlock yanked John away by his clothes, falling back and holding John protectively as they botch watched Mary crumble and fall to the ground. 

Moriarty laughed. "Oh, amazing! I knew that would happen," he smiled. 

Johns struggled himself out of Sherlock's arms and ran to Mary. "Mary," he gasped, kneeling down at her and starting to roll her over. 

Her eyes were wide open, some blood trailing from her mouth. There was a bullet hole in her chest, and John pressed on it. 

"Please," he breathed, even though it was too late. 

Sherlock and Moriarty watched, Sherlock panting, and Moriarty laughing. 

"Always so amusing to see lovers like that," Moriary smiled, and he pointed his gun to John's back as he looked at Sherlock. "Would you kill yourself for real if that would mean you'd get to safe your favourite doctor?" he wondered, smiling. 

Sherlock stared at the gun, tearing up as he then looked at John. "Please," he whispered to Moriarfy. "Please, he has a daughter," he trembled. 

"As I said before, as if I _care_. You have all gotten in my way, and you should pay for it," Moriarty growled, and then he pulled the trigger, just as another shot was heard. 

Sherlock yelled out and saw how Jim fell to the floor, lifeless. 

"John," Sherlock breathed, crawling up and then staring at the spot where John had been sitting. " _John_ ," he gasped to the lying man, quickly stumbling to him and rolling him on his back. 

"Sherlock," John whispered, and he groaned. 

"You got shot," Sherlock breathed, stroking John's hair. 

"Nowhere dangerous," John murmured. "My other shoulder," he grunted and then grew unconscious. 

Sherlock stared at John, and he just wanted to call 999 when paramedics ran up the roof and started doing their job. 

Sherlock looked at them confused, then he looked to the door as his brother walked through. "Mycroft, I-" he normally didn't do it, but with everything that had happened and the unconscious John in his arms, he burst out into tears without finishing his sentence. 

Mycroft crouched down and instructed some paramedics to take care of John, and as soon as the doctor had been laid on a stretcher, Mycroft pulled Sherlock in an uncharacteristic hug. 

Sherlock tensed but then slumped against his older brother, sobbing as he clutched to his jacket. 

Mycroft held Sherlock close, soothing him quietly. "I called in snipers as soon as I saw Doctor Watson leave," he explained in a whisper, patting Sherlock's back. 

Sherlock didn't reply, sobbing against his brother's chest. 

Mycroft sighed and looked up as Lestrade walked towards him, Lilly in his arms. 

Mycroft smiled briefly and then glanced at Sherlock in his arms, and Lestrade understood. Obviously. 

He nodded and walked away again, Mycroft watching him after. 

"I-I need to see..." Sherlock muttered, looking up with red eyes. "Please," he pleaded, frowning. 

Mycroft looked down at Sherlock and helped him up. "Take deep breaths," he instructed. "In.... Out..." he said softly, stopping only after Sherlock had calmed down a bit. "There you go," he said, smiling briefly. 

"I need to see him, Mycroft," Sherlock whispered, anxious still. 

Mycroft nodded and walked Sherlock through the doors and down the stairs, then through more doors until they were in a small room with a window that looked out in an operation room. 

Sherlock pressed himself against the window, staring at John's unconscious body with wide eyes. "Will he be okay?" he turned to Mycroft, and his brother frowned. 

"I assume he will be, but who knows what will happen," Mycroft noted, leaning on his umbrella. 

Sherlock bit his nails. "A-and Mary...?"

"Dead. Couldn't save her," Mycroft replied dryly, then clearing his throat. "Moran's been taken care of, then," he nodded. 

Sherlock bit his lips and kept watching John and the doctors working on him, making sure they were doing their job well.

"Sherlock," Mycroft eventually said, softly. "Lilly is crying, and Gregory can't get her quiet. Will you-"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, blinking to wake himself from his daze. He straightened and looked at John again. "Of course."

Mycroft nodded. "Come on," he said softly, taking Sherlock's arm. "He'll be all right, they told me," he assured him, and Sherlock looked at him. 

"When? I didn't hear..."

"You were ... Away from the world, so to say. I assume Mind Palace," Mycroft explained, as Sherlock finally walked with him out the room and to the waiting room. 

Lestrade was rocking Lilly in a desperate attempt to silence her, and he sighed in relief when he saw Sherlock. "Thank Christ, thank you," he carefully handed Lilly to Sherlock. 

Sherlock took her and rocked her, soothing her as he stroked her hair. "It's all okay," he whispered. "Daddy will come out soon, love," he turned his back to Mycroft, who had just cocked his head curiously. 

Lestrade looked at Mycroft. "What is it?" he asked softly. 

"Sherlock has never used the word 'love' before. Not like that, at least," Mycroft explained, and he smiled at Lestrade. "He used it in the way I do to you."

Lestrade smiled back and pecked Mycroft's lips. 

Mycroft smiled and then turned around as a doctor approached. "Sherlock," he called, turning to Sherlock 

Sherlock quickly walked over to the doctor. "And?" he breathed, Lilly sucking on her thumb in his arms. 

"He is stable," the doctor nodded. "He is awake, and he can have one visitor."

Sherlock nodded and looked at Lilly. "You stay with the nice policeman, yes?" he cooed, and he handed her back to Lestrade. "Take care of her," he said, before jogging to John's room. 

John looked up as Sherlock entered the room, and he was about to say something when Sherlock pressed his lips on his. His breath hitched, and he froze for a few moments, but then he cupped Sherlock's face to kiss back. 

Sherlock made a small noise and pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. "I was so worried," he whispered, throat tight. 

John dropped one hand, caressing Sherlock's cheek with the other. "I have too much I'd leave behind," he said, and he smiled softly.

Sherlock sniffled and sat on the bed, taking John's hand. "Mary is dead," he said weakly, gulping. 

John's smile faltered, and he cleared his throat. "Did they use CPR?" he whispered. 

"I-I don't know, I- lost track of time and what was happening in my surroundings after you passed out," he said in all honesty, and John squeezed his hand. 

"It's okay. I'm okay," John soothed him, his eyes watery. "I did love her, you know," he whispered. 

Sherlock nodded. "I know. I'm sorry..." 

"It's not your fault, Sherlock," John said sternly, then, softer, "I'm glad you are here," he whispered, and he wiped his eyes. "I just... Have to get over this and then we'll be fine," he assured him. 

Sherlock stayed silent, breathing shakily. 

"Sherlock, _breathe_ ," John said, squeezing his hand. "There you go," he smiled weakly.

Sherlock gulped and breathed out slowly. "I- I feel... Different..."

"Moriarty is dead, isn't he?" John asked softly, and Sherlock nodded. 

"Good. Maybe that is why you feel different," John smiled a tiny bit. "The one person threatening you is no longer here. You're free."

Sherlock's breath hitched, and he stared at John. "... You're right," he whispered, and he started to sniffle. "You're right, I'm _free_ ," he buried his face in his hands, starting to sob with relief. 

John frowned. "Hey, hey," he took Sherlock's hands gently and kissed them. "You okay?" he asked softly, and Sherlock nodded, sobbing. 

"I can come back, John," he breathed, wiping his eyes and smiling softly. "Back to you."

John stared at Sherlock, and then he started grinning. "Yes, you goddamn idiot," he pulled Sherlock in a kiss, ignoring his aching shoulder. 

Sherlock made a happy noise and kissed back, cupping John's face. 

They pulled back a few moments later, and Sherlock was glowing. "I can come back!" he laughed happily. 

John smiled. "Yeah," he squeezed Sherlock's hand and then frowned a bit as he looked down. 

Sherlock looked at John. "... Mary," he murmured, seeming to shrink. 

John nodded. "We couldn't be without her. I- I think she deserves a proper funeral. And, we should use Mary Watson instead of Moran something. It was her past, she wanted to leave it behind," he sighed. "She really did, but-"

"It caught up with her and she took measures in own hand. That's what got her killed," Sherlock interrupted, taking John's hand. 

John looked at Sherlock and nodded. "Yeah. I suppose you're right," he looked down. 

\---

John sighed when he walked out of the building where Mary had had her funeral, holding Sherlock's hand and Lilly in his other arm. "It was... As I had expected," he said softly, nodding. 

Sherlock looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, not many attendants, not long of duration... I think that is what she wanted," John murmured, shrugging. "And to be honest, I'm glad there were only a few people. I don't think I could've stand twice a dozen," he smiled weakly. 

Sherlock squeezed his hand. "You did good, getting a funeral for Mary," he nodded, hailing a cab.

"She deserved it," John nodded, and they both stayed silent as they stepped in the cab. 

"221 Baker Street," Sherlock said, then leaning back. "It feels good," he said softly. "Going _home_."

"We need to dust the place out," John groaned, and Sherlock smiled. 

"At least we started a bit," he shrugged, and he gently pulled John in a kiss. "I love you," he whispered against John's lips, and he smiled. "A lot."

John smiled softly and kissed Sherlock again. "I love you too, detective," he said fondly. "You think Mrs Hudson will babysit Lilly again? At least until we're finished?" he wondered. 

"Of course. I'll get her to," Sherlock nodded seriously, and he smiled at John as he caressed his cheek. "I love you," he whispered again. 

John grinned and smiled. "I love you, too," he kissed Sherlock again. 

Sherlock kissed back, beaming, until Lilly made a noise. He looked at her. "What is it, love?" he pouted, starting to tickle her. 

Lilly giggled and wriggled around until she was squealing, and Sherlock stopped with a grin. 

John smiled fondly. "I never knew you were that good with kids," he said softly, squeezing Sherlock's hand. 

"There are many things you don't know about me, love," Sherlock smiled, and he sat back as they arrived. "You pay, I'll get Lilly in," he said quickly, winking as he picked Lilly up and stepped out the cab. 

John chuckled and smiled as he paid the cabbie, and then he stepped out and walled after Sherlock, who had just gotten in. 

John closed the front door behind him and walked to Mrs Hudson's flat. "Mrs Hudson?" he knocked. 

She opened the door a few seconds later. "Oh, John, it's so good to see you!" she smiled and hugged John tightly, but pulled back when he winced. "Sorry, dear."

John smiled and shook his head, rubbing his injured arm. "Could you mind Lilly again? Sherlock and I still haven't finished up cleaning," he explained softly. 

Mrs Hudson nodded, delighted. "Of course!" she took Lilly from Sherlock, smiling. "Want to make cookies, dearie?" she cooed, and she smiled at Sherlock and John. "You just call when you want her back," she said fondly, before closing the door. 

Sherlock smiled at John and took his hand as he walked upstairs. "So this day is now for us. Alone," he said, pulling his coat off. He grinned at John. 

John looked at him as he pulled his coat off as well. "This time is for cleaning, though. We'll have enough alone time later on," he promised, hanging his coat up. 

Sherlock pouted. "But I wanted to-"

He got cut off by John, who had pressed himself against the detective and kissed him deeply, hands cupping his face. 

Sherlock made a noise. "John," he whispered, cheeks burning red. "You just said-"

John cut him off again with another kiss. "I was lying," he smiled, and he gripped Sherlock's arse. "I want you," he breathed. 

Sherlock gasped softly. "Your shoulder," he said weakly, as John started kissing his jaw. 

"It'll be fine. Where's the lube?" he looked around.

Sherlock licked his lips. "Bedroom. You don't want to use a condom?" he smiled when John dragged him towards the bedroom. 

"I'm clean. You?" John looked at Sherlock and smirked as his partner nodded. "Good," he pulled him in another kiss, stumbling back until he plopped on his back on the bed. He winced briefly. 

Sherlock frowned. "John," he murmured, starting to kiss John's neck. "Do be careful," he whispered, gently biting John's neck. 

John groaned and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Off," he started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. "Let me see you," he said, and he held his breath in anticipation. 

Sherlock nodded and slipped his shirt off, revealing his scarred chest. 

John sighed and ran his fingertips over Sherlock's chest. "All for me," he whispered, blinking to keep the sudden tears from rising. 

Sherlock looked at John and then cupped his face. "John, we're here now. Let's discuss my being away another time. I want you inside me," he breathed, and John nodded, starting to smile. 

"I can't believe this," he smiled, as he sat up to pull his jumper off. "You are so beautiful," he smiled at Sherlock, and Sherlock smiled back. 

"As are you," the detective said fondly, and he leaned down to kiss John again, unbuttoning the doctor's shirt and pulling it off. He let his hands roam John's chest for a few moments before moving them down to palm John slowly. 

John's breath hitched. "I've waited so long for that touch," he whispered, licking his lips. "Imagination's just not it."

Sherlock smirked, and he started unbuckling John's belt, moving down to kneel between John's legs. He smiled and pulled John's trousers down, licking his lips. "Gorgeous," he whispered, eyes fixed on the bulge in John's pants. 

John blushed. "Move," he said softly, smiling at Sherlock. He pushed his hips up and started pulling his pants down, but Sherlock gripped his hand firmly. 

"Leave them on, let me imagine," Sherlock purred, and John nodded, kicking his trousers to the ground. 

Sherlock nuzzled John's thigh, smiling as he kissed up to John's clothed member. He avoided it and kissed up John's chest, smiling. He stopped at the scars, John's breath hitching. 

"Sherlock," he mumbled, strained. 

"Sssh," Sherlock whispered, softly kissing the scars. "Beautiful," he looked up to John and kissed him deeply. "You, are, beautiful," each word emphasised with a kiss, and John smiled softly. 

"Really? Well then... _Soldier_ ," he tried, and he smirked when Sherlock's breath hitched. "You really thought I didn't know, love? You are quite obvious," he winked and kissed Sherlock again. 

"Next time," Sherlock smiled against his lips. "Next time we'll do something with that, promise me?" he palmed John again. 

John moaned and nodded. "Of course," he promised, licking his lips. 

Sherlock smiled. "You should get one of those wing tattoos at your scars. Make them look like victories of death," he kissed down John's body again, stopping just below the doctor's waistband. 

John snorted. "As if...!" he gasped when Sherlock mouthed at him, wetting the fabric of his pants. "Oh, fuck," he mumbled, hand carding through Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock smiled and slowly pulled John's pants down, kissing and licking the revealed skin inch by inch until John was nearly begging for Sherlock to take him in his mouth. 

John panted a bit, looking down at Sherlock as the detective wrapped his mouth around John's cock, and he moaned in bliss. "Oh, god, yes," he breathed, hips jerking a bit. 

Sherlock smirked and bobbed down slowly until the tip hit the back of his throat. He pulled back slightly to suckle on the tip, his other hand working John's balls. 

John groaned and closed his eyes, mouth open as he panted. "Sherlock..." he grunted, hand clenching around Sherlock's curls, causing Sherlock to whimper. 

"God, sorry," John breathed, licking his lips. 

Sherlock plopped off and shook his head. "I love it when my hair gets played with," he purred, stroking John slowly. 

"You do?" John smiled, and he sat up to tug at Sherlock's pants. "Off. Let me see," he demanded, and he smiled as Sherlock pulled his pants down. 

"Beautiful," John grinned, spitting in his hand and starting to stroke Sherlock. He wrapped his free arm around Sherlock's neck and kissed him as he pulled them back, causing Sherlock to fall on top of him. 

"John," Sherlock grunted against John's lips, hips moving in the touches. "John, I want you," he whispered, kissing him again. 

"And you'll get me," John promised, reaching for the lube. He popped the cap open and squirted some lube on Sherlock's lower back, the detective gasping. 

"Cold," he breathed, back arching. 

John smiled and ran his free hand over Sherlock's back down to his bum, smearing it with lube on the way. He teased a finger at Sherlock's rim. "Relax, love," he moaned softly. 

Sherlock nodded, relaxing and kissing John again as the doctor pushed his finger in slowly, Sherlock's breath hitching. "John," he whispered. 

"I know," John smiled, moving his finger slowly. "You okay?" he pushed it in deeply. 

Sherlock gasped again and nodded, licking his lips as he continued stroking John.

John moaned and bit his lips as he very carefully added a second finger. "All right?" he whispered, and he smiled when Sherlock kissed his neck with a nod. 

"John, I really want you," Sherlock breathed, and he groaned when John stroked him. "Christ."

John smirked. "I love seeing you like this," he said, kissing Sherlock deeply. 

Sherlock smiled, panting a bit. "I love the feeling. More," he demanded, and he groaned as a third finger stretched inside him. "John."

John groaned. "When you say my name like that... It does things," he said, voice rough. "Fuck."

Sherlock rolled his hips, and he moaned. "Oh, yeah," he smiled, biting his lips. He gasped when John buried his fingers deep inside him, and he arched his back. " _Oh_."

John smiled. "Beautiful," he pulled his fingers out and took the bottle of lube again to lube his hand and stroke himself a few times. "Line up, love," he ordered Sherlock, watching how the detective kneeled over him. 

"I'm going to ride you," Sherlock purred, taking John's cock and holding it up as he moved his hips down. He gasped. "Oh, this is not what I had ever expected," he breathed, eyes closed. 

John watched him with his hands on Sherlock's hips, panting. "Is it good? Because it is for me," he whispered, and his breath hitched when Sherlock rolled his hips. 

" _Yes_ ," the detective said out of breath, starting to move. "Christ, yes, it is amazing," he smirked, leaning down to kiss John deeply. 

John kissed back, grunting as Sherlock started rocking his hips, a wave of pleasure overtaking him. "Oh God, Sherlock," he moaned, leaning up to lap his tongue at Sherlock's nipples. 

Sherlock groaned and wrapped his arms around John's neck. "Oh my God," he breathed in John's ear, eyes closed. "It's so good," he whimpered, crying out when John suddenly bucked up. 

John nodded, breathing heavily as he kept moving his hips up in an attempt to find Sherlock's sweet spot. "Sherlock-"

He got cut off by Sherlock's cry of pleasure. He had found it. He smirked and gripped Sherlock's hips tighter as he hardened his thrusts, closing his eyes to take everything in. 

"John," Sherlock gasped then. "I'm so close, please come with me," he pleaded, groaning. "Please, please, please."

John's mind went blank, and he nodded mutely, stroking Sherlock in time with his thrusts. "I'm right here, right - oh!" his eyes opened and widened as he came, just in time with the detective. 

Both men gasped and clung to each other as their orgasms washed over them and then slowly ebbed away. 

John panted and smiled, resting his head against Sherlock's chest. 

Sherlock grinned. "John," he whispered, cupping the doctor's face and making him look up gently. "I love you," he pressed their lips together, passionately. 

John kissed back just as slowly, wanting to keep the moment lasting as long as possible. 

Sherlock pulled back after a few moments, and he smiled fondly at John. "I'm really, really glad you're with me," he said softly, caressing John's cheek. 

John leaned in the touch with a smile. "I'm just glad to have you back," he hummed and stroked through Sherlock's hair. "I love you."

Sherlock beamed. "I love you too," he kissed him again, pulling him closer. 

\---

John yawned as he awoke, and he stretched, groaning at the annoying ray of sunshine hitting his face. He extended an arm to his left and smiled when he felt skin. Usually Sherlock was gone when John woke up. 

John turned on his side and watched Sherlock fondly. 

Sherlock's perfect lips, the ever-existent frown on his face softened into a careless expression, and his cheeks slightly red. 

John grinned and kissed Sherlock's cheek, then sat up and stretched again until his back cracked. He nearly jumped when arms wrapped around his waist, but he relaxed. "You were sleeping literally ten seconds ago," he grinned. 

Sherlock made a chuckle. "No, I wasn't. I have been awake for hours already, and I did want to stand up as soon as I was awake, but then you looked far more intriguing," he pressed soft kisses to John's spine. 

"Yeah, sure," John hummed and lingered in the touches for a few moments before he stood up and abandoned Sherlock, who immediately started sulking. 

John looked at Sherlock and ruffled his hair. "Good dog," he joked, and he glanced up when he heard stumbling on the second floor. "Ah, Lilly's awake," he smiled, and he quickly dressed in his morning gown before he left the room to make breakfast. 

Lilly hopped down the stairs. "Morning, Daddy!" she smiled as soon as she saw John, and she hugged him. 

"Good morning, love," John smiled happily, hugging back and then letting go. "Pancakes or scrambled eggs with bacon?" he opened the fridge while Lilly hummed. 

"Pancakes with extra syrup," Lilly nodded seriously as she sat down, and she beamed when John nodded. 

"Okay," he agreed, taking the ingredients out and starting to mix it up. 

"You're up before me," Sherlock's voice came, and John glanced to see him looking at Lilly in played shock. He smiled fondly and continued. 

Lilly giggled. "I usually am, but I always fall back asleep, remember?" she laughed when Sherlock started tickling her. 

"That's not true!" Sherlock grinned. 

"I yield!" Lilly squealed, giggling when Sherlock stopped and sat down. 

"You can't win from me," Sherlock smiled triumphantly, and he stretched. "Never."

Lilly looked at her dads and smiled, then noticed the black ink slightly visible on John's arm. "Daddy, will you tell me the story of why you got that tattoo again?" she smiled. 

John looked at her and then at Sherlock, then he chuckled. "Fine, but not before you've had at least one pancake," he said, jokingly stern. 

"All right," Lilly giggled, taking Sherlock's hand and looking at the ring on it. "How long have you been married again?" she asked, smiling. 

Sherlock looked at her and then smiled fondly at John's back. "Four years," he grinned. "Four years a family, us three."

**Author's Note:**

> I love you, Evie, Fiona, and Sophie! So much! <333333 Happy (belated) birthday!!!!!!!!!


End file.
